Goodbye To You
by Barbara C
Summary: Faye reflects on the past and dreams of the future during an evening shared with an old friend. Not a songfic! Spoilers for eps 23-26 and the movie.
1. Part One

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the series or the original characters. I wish I did, but I don't. You'll have to give whatever companies that are involved the credit. Instead, I own a word processer and an overactive imagination which will just have to do.  
**Summary:** Faye is caught between the past and the future. Can a friend help her to move on? No romance, just a look at Faye post-series, with spoilers for eps 23-26 and the movie.  
**A/N:** Forgive OOCness I loaned out my Bebop DVDs and then came up with the idea for this. Its been months since I've actually watched an episode or the movie. Also, the intro is typical of many CB fics I've read, but it quickly branches away. 

**Goodbye to You**   
by Barbara C.

Part One

_ Empty corridors, cold gray steel and rusted metal pipes were all that accompanied the couple as they stood near an intersection. These corridors lead to everywhere and nowhere all at the same time; much like the conversation the two people were having. _

"My memory finally came back," It was a statement; not meant to elicit emotion, or reaction as one might think it should. It was simply meant to inform. The woman who uttered the statement, however, stared hard at the wall rather than the person to whom she was speaking. Then again, his back was to her so it likely wouldn't have mattered anyway. "But nothing good came of it," she continued. "There was nothing left for me to return to." Her hands clenched tightly, the nails threatening to draw blood from the palm. The force of the emotion held within her was currently great enough to threaten such an act, but not enough to carry one out. "This was the only place I could go." 

Whirling his direction, her volume increased as frantic emotions began to surface; emotions that were being held back by only a slim thread. "And now you're leaving, just like that!" she accused. "Why do you have to go?" The thread began to fray as tears welt up in her eyes and her voice began to quiver. "What are you going to do?! Just throw your life away? Like it was nothing?! Spike..." 

Without a single glance back at the sobbing woman, the man finally spoke. "I'm not going there to die." He paused. "I'm going there to find out if I'm really alive. I have to do it, Faye." And that was it. That was all he had to say before walking away, never once bothering to look back. 

She didn't know how to reply to his total disregard for his personal well being, as well as her damn emotional well being. His pretty words earlier about one eye seeing the past and the other seeing the present were bull. Complete bull! He had both eyes focused solely on his past, along with his stupid heart, and his idiot mind. Not on his future or his friends, and certainly not on Faye and what he was putting her through. 

As he continued to walk away, toward a dead past, she found her answer and leveled her gun on his retreating back. He didn't hesitate, not even when the telltale click of the safety being removed echoed down the passageway. 

The thread snapped. 

BANG! 

"Lunkhead," a woman muttered to no one in particular. "I should've done it. I could've…n't." Instead, she had fired the entire cartridge into the ceiling of the Bebop as Spike Spiegal walked away. 

Taking a rather unladylike gulp from a glass of vintage Merlot to drown out the memories, the woman known to some of the less than reputable universe as Faye Valentine, choked. Slamming down the wineglass her eyes watered and she struggled for breath, drawing the attention of a passing waiter. After a few moments she was able to recover and wave off the young man. Glad the glass hadn't broken and caused a bigger scene; she began wiping the excess moisture from her eyes and wondered whether her dinner guest for the evening would think she had been crying. 

That couldn't happen. It wouldn't happen. 

Pulling a compact from her purse, she opened it and began repairing her face. The mascara problem was quickly taken care of and a fresh application of lipstick was seen to. Satisfied, she put the compact and cosmetics back in their place. 

Sipping her drink this time, she thought about her dinner guest. She hadn't seen him in years. She set down the glass and let her eyes fall shut. Five years, eight months, and twenty-four days. She knew the numbers by heart, even as they grew. Whenever she thought about the numbers, it pained her that she remembered them so clearly and so precisely. Taking a deep breath she steeled herself. She couldn't let that get to her. She had to be strong. 

Running a hand across the silken fabric of her dress, for the thousandth time, Faye reassessed herself and her surroundings. The dress wasn't cheap and neither was the restaurant. Then again neither were the crème de la crème of society. She knew he'd be uncomfortable and embarrassed in a upscale setting and she wasn't about to go back to bell peppers and beef, sans the beef, for old times sake so she had settled on a moderately elegant establishment with food to die for. 

Her dark hair was combed straight so it fell down her back in waves; her long unruly bangs currently remained tucked behind dainty ears. She remembered the old shampoo commercials she had grown up with. If she had looked liked this back then, she would have been a star. As it was, so far this evening Faye received quite a few stares from admirers' but she was only worrying about one man tonight, leaving the others to be quickly forgotten. 

Her dress helped the over all look tremendously. It was a classic Earth original. When she'd seen it at the boutique, she knew it wasn't a fake and could name the designer without even being told. For a moment, she had been transported back years to when her mother had hired the designer to create her cousin's wedding dress. This creation however, was no wedding dress; it was an elegant, yet unpretentious concoction of silk and lace. The simple lines of the pale aqua slip-dress were complimented by the darker teal lace overlay. Elegant, simple, and stunning, the saleswoman had told her. The woman had also informed Faye that the dress both balanced and enhanced her darker, more exotic features noting her hair and eyes. Faye smiled as she remembered her mother telling her cousin the same thing about the wedding dress once it had been finished. Her father on the other hand had just shrugged his shoulders and footed the bill, being her cousin's guardian at the time. 

A wistful smile crossed Faye's features as she remembered the romance of it all. She had turned fourteen that year and had been asked to be the flower girl. Even though she complained she was too old for that duty, she accepted because she knew she wouldn't be in the wedding otherwise. Her cousin had been wildly in love with a young man she had met while going to the university and the summer wedding was going to be the talk of the town for some time. The whirlwind romance reminded Faye of the story her mother had told her about when she and Faye's father had met. Her mother had been a Japanese exchange student, her father an American business man, whom had fallen in love and they made a home half way between the worlds they had grown up in. Hawaii; famed for its coconuts, luaus, surfing, and Elvis Presley movies was where Faye had grown up. Not that anyone nowadays would remember who Elvis was. 

As she reminisced, the house band, a rather good jazz band by the sound of them, struck up a beat knocking the dark haired woman from her daydreams. She took a sip from her wine as she thought to herself. She wasn't a big fan of jazz. Spike on the other hand...and her father. Her father had loved the stuff. She drifted off again wondering how the two men would have gotten along if they had ever met. She almost laughed at the thought; in fact, she did manage a chuckle. Spike would have pissed the old man off with some oblique comment and her father would have… 

Faye wasn't quite sure what her father would have done. He wasn't the type that got into tiffs or tussles. She groaned as the thought of her word usage. "And professional life bleeds into the rest of the mess I'd like to call a life," she muttered. Writers, you can't live with 'em, you can't live without 'em. Of course, she thought, the same could be said of men, dogs, children, and criminals. 

She glanced at the time on a delicate silver watch that wrapped around her right wrist and then sipped again from her Merlot. Good year. She'd have to remember this place and maybe put it in her next book. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a small notepad and a pen and scratched a few notes onto the lined pages. She was a throwback; literally, she liked to think, having been cryogenically frozen for all those years. Faye wrote all her stories and notes onto paper and boxed the ideas away for rainy days rather than inputting everything onto computers where someone, like Edward, could hack them. She had gotten into the habit when she took a creative writing class several months after leaving the Bebop. 

She hadn't known what to do with her life and spent most of her time drinking her funds away when she remembered, again, what it was she had wanted to do with her life. She had wanted to teach. She had always wanted to help people and teaching was the best way to do that. Of course, the time after cryo had changed her. Faye knew that the "new" her wouldn't be able to deal with kids, or adults for that matter. Teaching was completely out of the question, but maybe if she took a few classes she might reconnect with other things that interested her; besides cheerleading. 

Two years later, Memories was on the bestseller list. A year after that Serenade surpassed its predecessor in time spent on the list and even made it to the number two spot. With encouragement from her professor, V. Prescott had become a breakout bestselling novelist of gritty crime dramas. No one knew who exactly V. Prescott was, so they likely wouldn't connect the "V" with Faye Valentine, pain-in-the-ass cowgirl. Faye had returned to using her real name, Prescott, once she had left the Bebop, rather than using some word a quack doctor had been fond of. She felt it gave her a sense of anonymity. Faye further encouraged this idea by telling her agent not to print any pictures of her, give out her full name, or do interviews; to give an added depth of mystery to the books and her literary persona, she told the man. 

Most of the reason for the secrecy dealt with the fact that she didn't know who or if people were still after her, that she wanted to keep the name Prescott clean and clear of the crap that the name Valentine had piled up. Also, if anyone she remotely knew in that past life read her books and made some of the loose connections she had written about to the real life people and crimes then she might have to pay out and she wasn't about to have that happen. So, for now, most of the literary world didn't know if V. Prescott was male or female, young or old, or anything really. There were plenty of rumors circulating though, of course those dwindled with book signings, but the chances of being identified were still so very slim and the book signings were fairly rare occurrences that Faye didn't worry too often about problems cropping up. 

She chuckled to herself as she thought about what the others who had been on the Bebop would think about their literary counterparts. The characters were recurring, down on their luck bounty hunters. Fortunately she was creative enough to ensure the characters were very loosely based on the people she knew. Descriptions, ages, relationships, even genders had changed even she sometimes forgot about the loose basis because the characters had developed themselves so well and so differently from their original counterparts. 

Her smile faded. Better than real life. Real life couldn't be scripted out for happily ever after. Real life came barreling straight at you and if you didn't like what it had to give you, it would shove it down your throat, whether you wanted it or not. Shaking her head to rid herself of bad memories, Faye took another sip of her wine and thought about the three book deal she had just signed to. Rather lucrative and better than that, she had the outlines for all but the third completed. 

She wondered what her guest would say about such a deal. He'd probably ask her what scam she was running, but she knew better. With a new name came a new life and she had long ago left that road of self destruction. It had been nearly six years since she'd seen him last. How had he changed after all this time? Brushing back a long lock of dark hair with her fingers, she wondered if he'd notice the changes in her as well. Not just the cosmetic ones, but the fact that somewhere along the way she'd grown up. Did his smile still comfort? Did her pet peeves about him still exist? Had he found someone to replace her? Easily or not? In that life, she scowled, everything could be easily replaced. No, she corrected, they'd only thought everything could be replaced, because they'd taken everything for granted. 

Taking another sip of her wine, she brushed away the cobwebs of thought and listened again to the band. The song was old, from sometime in the mid 20th century; it was an upbeat classic which drew her attention away from where her thoughts had been. A distraction, exactly what she had needed. Now if only her dinner guest would show. Gazing at the delicate silver watch wrapped around her wrist, she tapped her foot impatiently then went back to noting things about the restaurant and its patrons. Soon again, she was consumed with thoughts on how the old crew of the Bebop would act in a swanky establishment like this and who their bounty might be. These thoughts led to what her characters might think or do. And she let them take hold as her focus on her surroundings waned and soon she was staring off into space. 

"Is this seat taken," a voice broke through her thoughts. 

Looking up at the familiar face, she revealed a stunning and authentic smile, which somewhat startled the man. He wasn't used to receiving genuine emotions from her, much less smiles. Then again he hadn't seen her in over five years. People change. He had. 

"Hello, Jet." 

* * *

Yup, it's good ol' Jet. Now, the question is what can good ol' Jet do for lil' ol' Faye? Read on, review if you'd like, I know I'd like. :)  
I decided on Hawaii as the place Faye lived because the place in the episodes looked slightly tropical, with big buildings and I didn't recognize the location of the scenery, though it's very likely Tokyo. I watch the dubbed versions and knowing it's all originally in Japanese, I'm tired of blond haired blue eyed natives. So, I gave Faye something halfway in between to make me happy and the English speaking characters make a bit more sense; but mostly to make me happy. If you'd like to criticize this effort, it really isn't worth it, since the location has very little to do with the story, its flavor text, wrong or not. I apologize if my misrepresentation of Faye's past offends anyone, but it's just my own interpretation. Note: I have never been to either Japan or Hawaii, though I'd love to visit each someday. 


	2. Part Two

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the series or the original characters. I wish I did, but I don't. You'll have to give whatever companies that are involved the credit. Instead, I own a word processer and an overactive imagination which will just have to do.  
**Summary:** Faye is caught between the past and the future. Can a friend help her to move on? No romance, just a look at Faye post-series, with spoilers for eps 23-26 and the movie.  
**A/N:** I had this fic mostly completed and untitled when my friend played his favorite CD for the billionth time and I actually took the time to listen and feel the lyrics. Michelle Branch's "Goodbye to You" struck a chord in me and thus a title was born when I realized that the lyrics reflected this storyline well. (28 April 2005: The third chapter, merely a copy of the lyrics, has been deleted. A good and simple set of the lyrics can be found at A-Z Lyrics Universe.) 

**Goodbye to You**   
by Barbara C.

Part Two

"Faye," his deep, rich smoke scarred voice helped to sooth her rattled nerves. She wanted to leap up from her seat and deliver a bear hug for his unknowing comfort, but being Faye, she opted for keeping her composure. 

"You old dog, you haven't changed a bit. I'm glad you could join me," she greeted warmly, gesturing for him to sit. 

The grizzled gentleman, for lack of a better description, pulled out the empty chair and plunked himself down. A cybernetic arm was visible, though camouflaged by a clean white shirt and dark sports coat; rather than the scrappy vest he used to wear. His bald spot seemed to take up more space than she remembered, but the rest of him appeared to remain the same, unchanged by the passage of time. Though, she had to admit, his grooming was neater than when Faye had last laid eyes on him. 

He spoke again. "I'll admit I was kinda shocked to get your message but…" 

"What's wrong with wanting to spend my birthday with old friends?" 

"Friends? As in more than one?" He looked around. "The kid's here?" 

Softly, she shook her head. "I tried for a couple weeks, but whenever I managed to get close to tracking her down she and Ein had disappeared." 

"So, she's not hanging with her old man anymore?" The older man picked up the complimentary glass of water in a beefy hand and swigged most if it in one gulp. 

Shaking her head she replied, "Not as far as I could tell. She's seventeen or eighteen now, old enough to be on her own. Then again," she smiled at a memory, "she'd been on her own for a while by the time she started traveling with us." 

Jet laughed. "Lady, she was practically on her own while she was living with us." 

Faye joined in her companion's merriment for a few moments, before both came back down to reality. 

"So," she breathed, "how have you been? Still bounty hunting?" 

There was a momentary pause before the response. "Nope, I guess it was about two years ago that I finally gave it up." 

At that moment a waiter came by for the drink order. "What'll you have, Jet?" The dark haired woman asked. "On me," she smirked at his startled reaction. His smoke scarred voice requested a whiskey, straight, while she requested another glass of merlot. The waiter took their orders and left the table. 

"This is a restaurant you should look at the menu," Faye prodded. 

A thick, black eyebrow rose, "Is dinner on you too." 

A catlike smile slid across her face as she let the double meaning jump around in her brain long enough to garner Jet's attention. He had started to puff up a bit at the silent innuendo when she finally graced him with an answer. "I'm not doing to badly for myself and since I'm the one that set this up and asked you here, the food, and drinks, are on me tonight." 

"Spreading the cash around while you have it? Already planning to crash another casino?" 

"Not really," she replied softly while tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. She then perked up a bit, changing the subject back to her interest. "So, if you're not bounty hunting any longer what are you doing? And what did you do with the hunk of flying scrapmet—" 

"The Bebop was in perfect shape. Just like any ship," he replied defensively, "so long as you take care of her. Which we never could do properly 'cause most of the money we had went toward repairs to the other ships and food." He grumbled for a few moments about the money problems they'd had in the past before continuing on. "About three months after you left I found myself another partner. Without someone to back you up you can't go after the big fish and I was getting damn tired of bell peppers and beef for dinner with only myself for company." 

Faye didn't mind interrupting, "Without the beef?" 

She was bestowed with a cold stare, "Some of the time. Anyway, she had grown up in the bus—" 

"She?" 

He paused, glaring at his dining companion for interrupting. "She had grown up in the business, so she knew all the ins-and-outs and whatnot. After a couple years of that we finally scored big." The drinks came then and so did the food order request. Having had time beforehand to look at the menu Faye had already decided upon the Smoked Salmon. Jet, having never looked at the menu, ordered the same. The waiter once again left the table. 

"Wiley Williams," Jet said in a hushed tone. 

Faye had been about to take a sip from her glass when Jet startled her with that bit of information. Her hand shook as she placed her other hand atop the glass to make sure no liquid sloshed on to the pristine white tablecloth. 

"Wile- Wiley Williams? But he's—" 

"I know, the ISSP kept it all under wraps with the claim of a heart attack during the bust but he was alive when we took him in. I think it was to take the heat off of anyone who caught the bastard," he leaned back in his chair. "But I'm figuring they wanted time to interrogate him without his syndicate cronies finding out and trying to either kill him or break him out. Whatever the ISSP did with him afterward wasn't our business. All these years nothing bad has come from it so, I'm figuring no one found out our part in the mess." 

Faye nearly whistled. "That must have been a pretty big score." 

"Enough. After that, Jenny told me I was getting to old for the shit that I was going through. Told me she was too, for that matter." He smiled musingly, "I don't know if it was there all along or it hit me at that moment, but…" 

"Puh-lease," the dark haired woman pushed herself back from the table. "Spare me the sap, Jet!" The large man couldn't help but chuckle at her show of faux agony. "So, since your retirement, what have you and this Jenny girl been doing?" 

"Got married, sold the Bebop…and the Swordfish, opened up a little cantina on Ganymede." 

"Are you cradle robbing again?" she asked thinking of his friend's daughter, Meifa, who had been all of something like eighteen when she spent some time on the Bebop after her father's death. Growling he informed her that his wife's age was quite suitable and legal. 

"You?" he asked. 

Heaving a heavy sigh, she decided to go with the truth. "I drank myself into more problems until I decided to pursue the dreams I had forgotten seventy years ago." The balding man looked at her expectantly. "I had originally wanted to teach but—", a loud guffaw cut her off. "But," she glared at him, "I knew I wouldn't be able to handle that, so I tried out a creative writing class." 

"You're taking writing classes?" Jet asked somewhat befuddled. 

"No, I took a writing class, now I'm a published author." She leaned over to whisper to him. "V. Prescott." 

He wasn't buying a word until something sparked. "Valentine Prescott," he mouthed and then added. "Where the hell did Prescott come from?" 

"The better question would be where the hell did Valentine come from? Faye Etsuko Prescott. Valentine was given to me by that jerk doctor who brought me out of cryo. He made it up because I was only a first name at the time. I've legally become Faye Prescott again, but write under Valentine Prescott to make it tougher for the hoards of fans that would try to track me down." 

"Or the—" 

"I've paid off all the debt collectors, anonymously, of course. I just keep a low profile because of all the bad business we drummed up. With syndicates and other people we snowballed during the ol' bounty hunting days… I don't want Faye Prescott to get ragged on because of all the shit Faye Valentine had to deal with." 

"A fresh start." 

"Yeah." 

"Your meals, Sir. Ma'am." The waiter appeared with a tray. 

After they were served, the conversation dragged into idle chit chat. The food was delicious, but both knew there was another reason for their meeting. It wasn't only a birthday and it wasn't only to catch up on old times. 

Most of the way through the meal, Jet was the first to finally build up the courage to speak about it. "So, Faye, what's the real reason you called me out here?" 

"Cut to the chase huh? You were always good at that." She put her fork down and stared into the crimson liquid the wineglass held. 

He raised an eyebrow was about to start speaking when she cut him off bluntly. Still gazing into the contents of her glass, she quietly answered. "I need some help killing a few ghosts that have been haunting me." 

His brow furled. "Are you in trouble?" 

"Not in the way you're probably thinking." She smiled sadly then looked straight into Jet's eyes as she took one of his hands in hers. 

"It's been five years, nine months, sixteen days, and," she turned her wrist to look at the watch, "about an hour since Spike went off to see if he was really alive." She felt the hand in her grasp flinch. "I turn twenty-seven today. The same age he was when…when he…" Tears began to form in Faye's eyes as she related the cold facts that she lived with every day to Jet. 

"Faye." Jet's voice was harsh, but she sensed the empathy. 

"I finally found my past, but there was nothing there. Everything from that life was gone. It had been for years. I realized, too late, that everything I did have was aboard the Bebop." She paused. "I had everything there. Everything I ever wanted, except my past. We were the family I had been searching for, but I…" She let go of Jet's had and broke eye contact. Picking up her fork, she stabbed the utensil into the remainder of the fish. 

With a small hiccup, she continued. "Memories don't keep you warm at night, they don't make you laugh at their antics, or steal the last beer and make you beg for it." She mashed her fish some more. "They don't…" Her voice hiccupped again. "They only make you smile when you remember the good times, and cry like a baby when you remember all the bad. But the bad times are so much more memorable, that they just overwhelm you and…" 

"Faye," Jet had remained silent during her ramblings, but it was time for him to intrude before she did something she'd regret. 

"No, don't interrupt!" She hissed, laying her fork down, with some force, but not enough to garner the attentions of any patrons or employees. "If I'm unhappy with my memories, Spike would have been too, right?" The watery quality of her voice was quickly being replaced by confusion and anger. "He had to; especially with Julia and everyone else he cared about dead. So why did he care so much? Why did he care about a bunch of dead people more than us? More than me?" She grasped the napkin in her lap and began twisting. "I wouldn't have gone off like that, so why did he? Didn't he want us anymore? He said he was going to see if he really was alive, but he wasn't." She glared almost accusingly at Jet, as if he'd known more than she had at the time. "He lied. He lived in his memories; that was the only place he lived." 

"Faye," Jet began again, only this time more forcefully. 

Quietly, before another word could be spoken, Faye finished her tirade. "And that's where he died." 

Jet reached underneath the edge of the table to take her hands in his. Bringing them up to the table, he ran a comforting thumb across the backs of one of her hands. Uncomfortably, he began, "Now, Faye, you can't beat yourself up over this." She was going to protest. He could feel it in her body language and see it in her face, so he just kept right on talking. "Spike didn't go to see if he was alive." Damn, wrong thing to say. "He went because he had to. He had unfinished business. I'm certain he had every intention of coming back." He paused trying to think of something else to say. "I guarantee that, he left a full pack of cigs in his room and the last beer in the fridge," lightening the mood seemed to work. Hell, lightening the mood was needed. "There is no way he would have left the last beer if he planned on getting himself killed. He would have at least had one last drink, if only to spite you." Jet had to chuckle at that. 

"You don't get it," Faye argued, "he was chivalrous that way. He would have left the stupid beer for one or both of us to remember him by. So we could have a farewell drink." 

Confusion etched the big man's face. "Are we talking about the same man? Tall, gangly build, fuzzy hair, wore a blue suit?" 

Faye pulled out of his hold and stared hard at the remains of the fish on her plate. Confused, she said, "I just… I…" I want to know what we're arguing about. I want to know… "Why? I want to know, why?" 

Jet leaned back in his chair and heaved a heavy sigh. He thought that was the reason for this odd emotional outburst. "Well," he began. 

"Are you finished with your plates?" Their waiter was back. 

"Not yet," Jet told the man. "I could use another whiskey though." 

"More wine, Ma'am?" 

Quietly, "Yes, please, Merlot, 56." 

Picking up on the tension at the table, the waiter went about his business as quickly and professionally as possible and then departed. 

"Faye, he'd been like that for years. There was nothing special about the time, the day, or how old he was. He had been looking for a way out all along." 

A sharp gasp caused him to look up. Oh shit. She was angry. 

"Damn it, Faye. It's the truth. Now, listen here and listen good, 'cause I'm only going to say this once. Don't mope over him; if he knew you were going to keep up at it, he would have shot you himself. Now, you seem to have made a good life for yourself, he'd be proud. Damn proud I'd bet. You moved on, it was something he never could do. Never would do." He gave an exasperated sigh. "You're better than he was." 

"I'm still lonely." She looked miserable. 

"Hey, you called me and I came running; dumb as it might have been," he added. I'm sure if you stay on the kid long enough, you could get her here too, even the dog. And Jenny's with me, so… You've got a whole handful of us." 

"It still doesn't keep me warm at night." 

He had to think about that one for a sec. "I'll buy you an electric blanket or a pet poodle." The offer elicited a small burst of laughter from Faye. 

"No poodles, but maybe a dog. I hear it's a great way to meet guys; dog walking." 

"Yeah," Jet let out more of a groan than an affirmation. 

"What's wrong with that?" 

"Dog walking, it's a lame plan." 

"Says, who?" 

"Says me," he gave her an almost fatherly grin. The waiter arrived with their drinks and left promptly. "So, no more tears? You're over your infatuation with Spike?" 

"No more tears and no, not totally, but enough." 

That was good enough for Jet. Swigging his whiskey down in two swallows, Faye did the same with her wine. Of course, her near breakdown hadn't caused anyone to stare; but two relatively elegantly dressed individuals guzzling whiskey and wine like water was enough to cause a few whispers amongst the other patrons. 

"Y'know," she said placing her empty glass back on the table. "We should do this more often." She then smiled at Jet, a real smile. 

"What? Air our dirty laundry out in public?" 

"No," she swept another strand of errant hair behind her ear. "I meant catching up. It was...good," she finally decided. "And maybe if we do it again, you can bring Jenny, along. You guys are the closest thing to a family that I have... I need you. Besides," perking up, Faye grinned at the man, a sparkling dazzling grin. "I wouldn't mind being an Auntie Faye-Faye." 

She cackled with laugher at his startled form. "Hey, anything is possible." Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she stood then patted her old friend on the back. "Keep in touch." And she sauntered out of the restaurant leaving a stunned Jet to realize the bill hadn't been paid. 

"Damn!" 

* * *

Alright, so the original ending had her paying and I didn't like it, so I changed it to him receiving a check in the mail a few weeks later (do they even have checks in the future?) so he'd know he could trust her now, but this truncated ending is so much more enjoyable. As for Faye working through her grief and other issues, it happened too fast. I doubt it could be done in one sitting particularly a half hour long session with an old friend, but she did. It happened. I'm sure this isn't the end of her emotional turmoil and she goes home to have a good cry. I will also add that yes, Spike is supposed to be dead. I'm one of those hopeless romantics that repeatedly tells herself that there was something between the two and he didn't die at the end of the series, but who knows its just wishful thinking deep down. I have some unfinished, unposted works relating to those feelings, but this one was just so much better. 

If someone wants to write any related pieces to this story using it as inspiration, you have my blessing. Jenny is a blank slate, I have my own thoughts on her, but I'm not sharing those yet. However, I do ask that you please don't take huge tracts of this story and use flashbacks as the key feature in the piece. Thanks. 


End file.
